False Hope
by 12anonymous33
Summary: After a stroke of good fortune, Booker DeWitt decides against selling his baby daughter to Comstock. However, it may be impossible for the father and daughter to escape the infinite loop of events already put into motion.
1. Chapter 1

**CHAPTER 1**

The streets of New York were bustling with people, trolleys, and the occasional vehicle one beautiful autumn afternoon. Everyone was energetic and walking briskly about their business, especially one young man, who was jogging down the streets, around the tall buildings and dodging past the other civilians.

The man, not quite twenty-one years of age, was sweating slightly and panting from the exercise. He didn't slow down, however, giving out gruff apologies to those he bumped into. He could not stop until he reached his destination.

Upon arriving at an average-looking apartment building, the man finally stopped in front of the entrance of his residence and place of business. The glass pane on the door read:

_BOOKER DEWITT_

_INVESTIGATIONS_

_Into Matters Both Public and Private_

Sighing in exhaustion, Booker DeWitt unlocked the door to his apartment and went inside. His small and shady office offered a nice place to get away from the bright evening sun. Booker removed his dark jacket and hung it next to the door. He ran a hand through his light brown hair and wiped the sweat off of his slightly creased brow. Turning to a basin full of water below a small mirror, Booker washed his hands and face of any grime that remained. For a few moments, he stared at his reflection, trying to cool off after all that jogging. Booker, for a twenty-year-old man, was tall and well-built, and had an unusually strong and deep voice. His eyes were a dull and tarnished emerald green. Booker considered them windows into his dark and turbulent soul.

Suddenly, DeWitt shot up, forgetting momentarily about the darker times in his life. He had remembered why he had been hurrying home in the first place. He swiftly made his way to the door near the far left corner of his office. Opening it quietly, he snuck inside towards the wooden crib next to a small table and a basket of some of his possessions. Booker peered into the crib, his gaze softening and a small smile forming on his lips when he saw the infant, fast asleep.

Anna DeWitt really was the light of Booker's life. The baby was his only daughter and true family; everyone else had either abandoned or forgotten the part-time Pinkerton, especially after the tragic death of his wife. Even though she was born through death, Anna was sweetest and happiest infant Booker had ever known. The poor man always knew that he never deserved her, and that she deserved a much better life than being left at home alone for hours on end. While some of the neighbors were kind enough to watch over Anna for him, many held no pity for Booker.

Not wanting to wake her, Booker left Anna's nursery and sat down at his desk. On top of it was the file he had created for his latest and, luckily for him, rewarding case. It had all started just a week before, when a desperate and busy-looking police officer had entered his humble office and asked for his assistance. He had found a suspect related to a serious murder case, but was unable to find substantial evidence against him, nor did the officer have the time to. So, being the tough nut that he was, Booker had taken the case. All he had to do was shadow this suspect for a while and get the information the officer needed.

The investigator reached into his pocket and took out the fat wad of bills that had been awarded to him. He smiled in satisfaction as he counted them and stored them in the lockbox hidden under his desk. Even though Booker had to travel to sketchy and dangerous areas of New York City to spy on this murderer, it was all worth the payment he got. He could finally start paying off that accursed debt that hung over his head, and give Anna a better life.

Just then, Booker was snapped back into reality when he heard tiny whimpers beginning to grow louder in the other room. As quick as a flash, the young father went to his waking daughter. The little baby's sky blue eyes were opening, and tears were welling up in them as she began to fuss.

"Shhh...It's OK, Daddy's here." Booker spoke in an uncharacteristically soft voice, reaching down and caressing Anna's little head with his large and calloused hand. Pure blue eyes met hardened emerald, and Anna smiled and cooed, reaching for her father with her chubby limbs. Booker couldn't help but smile; those loving blue eyes were the same ones that her mother had been blessed with. Gently, but without hesitation, he took Anna into his strong arms and held her close. She giggled again, and Booker's smile widened. It seemed so incredible that in the very same hands that had ended many a life in terrible ways, was an infant more innocent and pure than any he had seen before.

Sighing, the father brought Anna close and kissed the top of her downy head. She giggled happily at the contact and the way Booker's stubble tickled her. Said man decided that he shouldn't leave his daughter alone anymore and brought her out of the small nursery, setting her on the desk in his office. The investigator was glad that he had done some spring cleaning beforehand; no gambling tickets or empty bottles were littering the desk, the floor had been swept, and the little furniture he had had been dusted off. He needed the small establishment to look as neat and organized as possible if he wanted to attract more customers. Also, DeWitt had no intention of raising a child in a pigsty that smelled of old whiskey.

Booker leaned forward on his desk, putting his head in his hands as exhaustion from the day's work took hold of him like molasses. He sorely hoped that things would only get better from here. He needed more real money soon if he wanted to finally get those gangsters off his back. Perhaps he could buy a bigger place somewhere else in the city, somewhere peaceful and calm where the neighbors were kindly and Anna could make new friends, go to school, play around to her heart's content...

Anna had been silently watching her father from her perch on the desk. She crawled over to where he mused and yanked lightly at his combed hair. Booker looked up, a small smile playing at his lips. Anna gurgled and tugged again, trying to get his attention. The young investigator brought one hand up to caress her sweet, round face. The infant grabbed hold of the hand tightly when it touched her, as if afraid her father would never hold her again.

"I love you, Anna. I love you so much." Booker chuckled sadly, thinking about what a terrible single dad he was, constantly failing his daughter. But things were looking up now, due to the extra money trickling in.

Wanting to break the silence of the grey room, Booker turned to a cheap little radio that sat near the edge of his desk, not too far from a paper calendar that stated "October 8, 1893". Turning the knob with his free hand, he listened to the static and warped noises of the frequencies until he could find something at least bearable to listen to. His daughter, from her spot on the desk, giggled at all the funny noises coming from the device.

"Welcome to...now playing...if I could...would you kindly..." the radio sputtered out to an unsatisfied Booker. "We wish...what do you think...the crowd is going wild! Lucky number 77 is gaining ground in this heart-stopping race!"

Booker's heart nearly did just that when he heard that number: 77. Where had he heard it before? His eyes widened as he realized he must have made some sort of bet on this number on one of his drunken outings. Ignoring the ecstatic radio announcer and Anna's confused gaze, he dove into the few drawers in his desk, looking for something that would put his fears to rest. Sitting on top of some old papers was where he found the culprit.

For a minute, Booker had a staring contest with that neat horse race ticket. His emerald eyes went wide in shock and disbelief. A bold number took most of the space on the ticket paper: 77. He could not believe that he had gone out and made a bet like this, especially when things had been going so well. He was destroying his future. He was destroying his daughter's future.

"...and it's all over! Number 77 takes first place in an unexpected turn of events! Even our top horses could not compete! The crowd is going wild! I'm sure there will be big dividends for the few who betted on our new champion!"

Booker's head shot up and he stared at the radio as if it was a blessing sent from the heavens. A flood of relief washed over his tense body. He began to laugh shakily as he realized what had just happened. The investigator was in utter disbelief; he couldn't believe that he had profited so much from this gamble. He felt like jumping up and down for joy, which he would've done if he wasn't such a serious man.

"...Holy shit..." It was all he could even say at the moment.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the old door in front of the Pinkerton. Booker, startled, forced himself out of his feeling of bliss and looked up. The door was knocked on again. Coming to his senses, the father called "Hold on! Sorry, I'll be there in a second!" He took his little Anna, who was busy pretending to write with a pencil, and put her back into her soft crib. Anna's big blue eyes looked up at him dejectedly. A frown was on her pudgy lips.

Booker quickly kissed her once more in reassurance. "I'm sorry Anna. Daddy has to go to work again, OK?" The baby giggled in response. Satisfied, the investigator strode out of the nursery, past his desk, and towards the potential customer waiting outside his office.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

Booker quickly composed himself before unlocking and opening the door for the stranger. "Sorry about that," he started rather sheepishly, "My daughter was-"  
"There's no need for that, old sport. I understand completely," the stranger cut in, stepping inside the office. Booker blinked in surprise and got a better look at the man he had let in. Average in size and stature, with slick red hair, the man had an aura of prestige and knowledge about him. That, and his bright yellow suit and green tie contrasted greatly to the investigator's grey and shabby office.

DeWitt felt confused as he offered the mystery man a seat in front of his desk and sat down across from him. This man looked like he was pretty well-off, and had a great career. What would he want with a lowly Pinkerton like him? Booker knew very well that there were much more qualified investigators living in New York.

"Dr. Robert Lutece, at your service, Mr. DeWitt," the man introduced himself. He kept a neutral facial expression, but his voice was very serious and lofty. Booker's eye twitched. It was almost annoying the way he spoke.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, sir," the investigator replied cooly, shaking Robert's hand. "Are you in any need of my services today?"

Lutece shifted a bit in his seat. "That...isn't quite the case, Mr. DeWitt," he responded carefully. Booker noticed that Lutece's icy blue eyes didn't give his apparent nervousness away. "I came with a simple request from an...acquaintance who is willing to wipe you clean of debt."

Booker perked up in surprise. There was someone willing to pay off all his debt for a job? Even after the lucky horse race, it seemed like this day was just getting better and better. However, Booker's investigative intuition began kicking in. Was there some sort of catch to this?

"While I think I can deal with my debt myself," the Pinkerton began softly, leaning forward on his desk, "I wouldn't mind a little extra help." Booker didn't want Robert to think him a gullible fool. "Who is this acquaintance of yours?"

"Oh, I almost forgot. I have a memo that he asked I give you." Without urgency, Lutece reached into a pocket in his yellow jacket and procured a card that he then handed to DeWitt. The young investigator took the card and read it curiously.

_Bring us the girl, and wipe away the debt.  
-Father Z.H. Comstock_

Booker glanced up from the card to meet Lutece's cold and calculating eyes. "So this Father Comstock wants me to find a missing girl?" He said carefully after a moment of silence. "But why me?"

Robert looked as if he was trying to find the correct words to say next. "Actually, Mr. DeWitt, the girl Father Comstock seeks isn't actually missing, and is much closer than you would think."

Booker's eyes narrowed into green slits. He didn't know what this guy was talking about, or what he was planning. The only logical thing for him to do was to keep questioning Lutece. "What is the girl's name?" he almost purred dangerously.

"Anna DeWitt, sir. That is her name." the doctor answered simply.

The silence that followed could have been cut with a knife. The father and the doctor stared straight at each other, one glaring angrily and the other remaining cool and composed.

"...Excuse me?" The investigator growled after a while, "You want to take...my daughter? My family? My life and blood?"

"Please remain calm, Mr. DeWitt. Father Comstock does not mean to harm your daughter in any way. He knows that in your current state, you should not be-"

"-Raising my child?" Booker finished, standing up and glaring down at the man across from him. Robert twitched imperceptibly. When Lutece saw him drawn to his full height, he finally understood that Booker DeWitt was a dangerous man who should not be trifled with. However, he still had a job to do, and proceeded to speak to the angry Pinkerton cautiously.

"Mr. DeWitt, I am not sure if little Anna will have a happy or successful life if she stays-"

"You haven't got the right," Booker snarled, leaning forward dangerously, "To lecture me on how to raise my daughter. I will do whatever I can to make sure she has it off better than me, and that does not include selling her to the first damned stranger who barges into my office!" Robert Lutece, keeping a calm composure, noticed that while one of the investigator's hands was firmly gripping the desk, the other was hovering close to a pistol hanging from his belt.

As Lutece was coming up with his next course of action, however, Booker suddenly sighed and relaxed against his desk. He ran his hand through his hair, composed himself, and addressed the mildly surprised Lutece calmly.

"Look, Mr. Lutece, I apologize for my outburst," the investigator said hesitantly. "I'm working as hard a I can to get rid of this debt. You've got to believe me when I tell you that I am getting some extra money and cutting back on all this...boozing and gambling." Booker motioned weakly towards a small trash can near his desk stuffed with empty brown glass.

"Anna's the only thing I have left," he continued, "I won't let someone take her away that easily."

Robert Lutece actually looked quite startled. Slowly, the man got out of his chair and began pacing around near the desk, his blue eyes looking to the floor and his hands locked behind his back. Booker watched Lutece like a hawk as he brainstormed.

"Father Comstock is willing to wipe you of all your sins; those already done and those that have not yet come to pass," the man of science began carefully, "Believe me when I tell you that certain things have been set into motion. Try as you might, Mr. DeWitt, there are some things in life that are just inevitable. Who's to say you wouldn't start drinking and gambling like you have before?"

Insulted, Booker opened his mouth to protest but was quieted by Lutece's hand. "Please, allow me to finish, Mr. DeWitt," he asserted, "You may not understand this, but breaking out of the cycle of sin and wrongdoing is nearly impossible. That is why Mr. Comstock wants to relieve you of the burden of fatherhood, and in turn give Anna the life she deserves. Father Comstock is, for lack of a better term, what you would call a prophet; he knows of all your sins, even those not committed yet. He will take advantage of them, and manipulate you to give him what he wants most." Lutece finished by turning calmly to the bewildered investigator across him.

DeWitt had heard enough. He didn't know or like what this crazy doctor was talking about. However, the Pinkerton knew that he had to get this man and this Comstock he was describing away from Anna to keep her safe.

"So, is this where you start preaching to me on sins and fate, Mr. Lutece?" Booker spoke with new confidence as he stood up and faced Robert. "The things I've done...they are solely mine to deal with. Do you understand? It won't be easy, but I will put my past behind me and do what I can to raise Anna right. Now go and stick that to your Father Comstock."

Robert Lutece was at a loss. He hadn't expected the young father, standing in front of him, proud and confident, his emerald eyes glowing, to be so unyielding. Comstock would not be pleased by this, not one bit. At that moment, unfortunately, Lutece could not think of anything more sensible than to just walk away from the situation, for now.

"Alright, I suppose," Lutece shrugged simply and strode across the gloomy office towards the door. "I will do as you suggest, old sport. I must warn you though, that Comstock can be quite stubborn, and is deeply concerned about the welfare of your daughter." The investigator standing near his desk said nothing, and only watched carefully as the doctor hesitantly opened the door and, glancing once more over his shoulder at Booker, stepped out into the hallway.

Once he was sure the other man was gone for good, the Pinkerton sighed heavily, leaning against the nearest wall. He squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to recover from what had just transpired in his office. Booker didn't understand what this Father Comstock wanted from him or if he had heard the last of him. Booker was relieved, however, that he had been able to protect Anna from being taken away.

The baby in the back room began to cry, shattering the silence about the office. Booker shook his head, smiling slightly. He guessed that he deserved this for depriving her of attention throughout her new life. As the father turned to tend to his daughter, he swore to himself, his blessed wife, and Anna, that he wouldn't let anything put her in harms way; not while he was around.


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER 3**

The months after Booker's encounter with Robert Lutece passed, and spring soon began to resurrect from the snow in New York City. Gone were the days that Booker had to spend under his thin blanket, holding Anna close to protect her from the freezing cold. Now, the skies were clearing up, and the trees and plants of New York's parks began to regrow their lost leaves and flowers.

Life, however, was not the only thing to return to America's greatest city that spring. Crime and strike rates rose with the temperatures, and the police department, detectives, and investigators like DeWitt were up to their knees in hard work. For Booker, though, it was all worth the extra money trickling into his pocket. The young man couldn't help but chuckle when he thought of the shocked faces of the gangsters at his door when they saw that he actually had the money he owed them.

Booker was really starting to turn his life around. Ever since that man, Lutece, tried to take his Anna away from him, the Pinkerton did everything he could to keep his baby happy and healthy. Booker couldn't wait for the day when he and his daughter would be able to live somewhere nice and make the most out of their lives.

One spring morning, like any other, Booker was seated cross-legged on the floor of his office, reading over some information on his latest Pinkerton job. Anna was next to him, playing with a small leather ball and rolling it between her two chubby hands. Booker was glad that he was able to afford things like baby toys now; it didn't seem that long ago when he would have to decide which of the two would eat dinner.

When the tell-tale knock of a customer sounded at the door, however, the young father snapped out of his quiet reverie and to attention.

"I'll be right with you!" He exclaimed quickly. DeWitt then gently scooped up his growing baby and her ball in his arms, taking them to the nursery.

"Dada," Anna cooed happily at Booker. The Pinkerton smiled pridefully as he set his daughter in her crib, smoothing out the blankets over her little body. He only wished that his lover had been there to hear their child utter her first word.

_You would have been so happy, Alice,_ Booker thought wistfully.

DeWitt hurried back into the main office, opening the door to let his potential customer in. However, the young Pinkerton blinked a bit in surprise when he saw them.

There was an elegant, older man of about Booker's size and build standing outside of the office. His slightly wrinkled face was covered by a brown beard, and his green eyes held uneasiness in them, even with the amiable expression on his face.

Flanking him was a larger, less pleasant man in a pale-blue, military-esque uniform, standing at attention with a stern mask for a face.

Booker arched an eyebrow in confusion. "Can I help you gentlemen?" He addressed them as professionally as he could.

"Mr. DeWitt, I presume," responded the elegant man responded easily, stepping closer. "My name is Zachary Hale Comstock. I'm sure you've heard from me before. I'm here for the girl."

Booker tensed up. His eyes widened with horror as he remembered that name, the name that had haunted him for weeks after his meeting with Lutece, the name of the boogie-man that had plagued his mind with fear. How could this bastard have the nerve to expect to be greeted like an old friend when he had tried to take away the thing that was worth more to the Pinkerton than gold?

Comstock stood still next to his burly companion, apparently waiting for some sort of response. Booker gave him just that in the form of a door being slammed in his face.

The investigator scrambled towards his desk to grab his gun, but froze when he heard a terrible crash behind him. Booker changed course and dashed to Anna's room when he realized that the door had been kicked open.

"Freeze, boy! Give the Prophet what he came for!" The voice seemed to have come from the other soldier-like man, along with the sound of a pistol being loaded.

DeWitt stopped in his tracks when he heard that noise. He had made it to his baby's crib, but couldn't shut the door to the nursery. Carefully, he turned around to face the two intruders, shielding Anna's crib with his body. The baby, frightened by all the commotion, began whimpering in confusion.

"Now, now," Comstock approached without urgency, placing a hand on his cohort's shoulder, "There's no need for that kind of behavior, Thompson. You are one of my elites for a reason, after all."

Thompson nodded, keeping his glare and pistol aimed at Booker. "Of course. Forgive me, Father."

"There is nothing to forgive, my son," the Prophet replied before turning to the Pinkerton standing before him. "It doesn't have to be like this, Mr. DeWitt."

"Get the hell away from me!" Booker yelled frantically, his eyes feral and fearful as Comstock stepped towards him, "You're not taking her! No one is!" By now, Anna's cries were starting to increase in volume.

"Please, DeWitt," Comstock implored, his soft green eyes glancing towards the crib behind the father, "Calm the little one. We don't want to attract unnecessary attention to the situation at hand, now don't we?"

"You can go to hell," came the young investigator's reply.

"Hey, do what the Prophet says!" Thompson warned, coming closer with his pistol still raised, "You're in no position to argue."

Booker stared down at the gun's barrel, which was pointed to his head. The Pinkerton gulped and turned around, looking down at his crying daughter. The poor girl's tearful eyes seemed to plead her father to comfort her and keep her safe. DeWitt's heart was close to the breaking point. How was he supposed to deal with this situation and keep Anna unsathed at the same time?

Hesitantly, Booker took his daughter in his arms. Anna's wails began to cease as she felt the warmth of her father's embrace. However, her bright eyes still held fear and confusion, and Booker helplessly tried to think of someway to soothe her.

"Mr. DeWitt," Comstock began, trying to regain the investigator's attention, "Please allow me to explain my motives. As a prophet, I have seen through the eyes of the Lord, and realized that in order to keep my holy congregation safe and united, I would need an heir; someone who could take my earthly place when I depart to the next world."

"B...but why?" Booker demanded, glaring and holding his frightened daughter closer to his chest. "Why her?"

"Alas, fate has left me without the ability to produce a child myself," the Prophet sighed sadly, shaking his head, "But God showed me this in a vision; an innocent girl, desperately needing to escape from her unlivable home and sinful father. I have seen every wrongdoing of your past, DeWitt: Wounded Knee, the Pinkertons, all of the drinking and gambling."

"Look here, pal," Booker cut into the holy man's speech, "I don't know how you know those things about me, and I don't care. The past is the past. I'm making more money now. I'm-"

"Yes, yes, I know about all that, DeWitt," Comstock exclaimed with more intensity, "but I see a possible return to those behaviors in your future. You have no wife to care for your daughter, and you can't possibly raise the child in a place like this. It would be best for her if I could raise her as her father-"

Whatever the Prophet wanted to preach next was cut short by his cry of pain. Booker and Thompson stared in shock as Comstock grasped his head and hemorrhaged from his nose.

"Father Comstock! Are you alright?" Thompson asked, turning to face the older man.

Booker's gaze shot down to the infant in his arms, who whimpered and squirmed in fear of the intruders. In that split second, the father realized that he never wanted to see his daughter in this state again. He decided that he would take this chance to escape from this deranged Prophet. With a bellow of rage, Booker charged, striking Comstock with his shoulder. The anguished man stumbled backwards, crashing into his larger cohort.

"No! DeWitt!" Thompson yelled in surprise, firing a stray bullet from his pistol.

"You'll be condemned, Booker! Condemned!" Comstock cried through his bloody nose, struggling to get off the floor. The investigator never heard them, though; he and his precious Anna were already fleeing down towards the street.


End file.
